The King and all of his Men: 100th Hunger Games
by PlanetBorn
Summary: The Fourth Quarter Quell brings a new twist to the games: Six children from the Capitol will be reaped along with twenty-four from the Districts. But the Capitol is already well-prepared...[SYOT, currently accepting Tributes]
1. Prologue

"People of Panem," The youthful face of Gaius Hare, president of Panem, filled the glowing screen above the training room, "Our glorious tradition, the Hunger Games, is nearly upon us once more. And as you undoubtedly know, this year is a special one. Our first centennial, and our fourth Quarter Quell." He tapped a box that sat before him on his podium, marked with the Capitol's seal. "And as you know, with that comes a special condition for our games." He opened the box, withdrawing an envelope, elegantly marked with '100'. He unsealed it, carefully reading what was written upon it, before speaking.

"This year, not only the districts will be offering up tributes. For this year, to remind you of the Capitol's glory and superiority, six of our own children will compete alongside your twenty-four."

There was a chorus of whoops and hollers from the training room below. Marcius King looked down, smiling at the assembled group of twenty-four teenagers. He had not raised any of them, but he still considered them his children. They had been born nearly 18 years ago now, under his direction, their genetics chosen from among the past victors of the Games. They had begun their training as soon as they were able, given every advantage in their lives. They had been honed into perfection under his watch.

It was a shame only six of them would be able to compete. But it would be the six most capable, the six who would ensure the Capitol's victory.

As the president ended his address, the screen on the training room wall turned over to a countdown. The teens scrambled for weapons that hung from the walls, readying themselves as a door on the far end of the room opened. A massive mutt, its body covered with armored plates and horns, came charging through, bellowing in anger at the group. The fighters formed a ring around it, watching it, studying it for weakness. Finally, they struck, bringing down the great beast in less than a minute.

King smiled again. What a spectacle this Quarter Quell would be.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Hello all! This is my first fanfic in years, and I've decided to try out a SYOT! I'll be accepting all tributes from districts and the Capitol. For the purposes of this story, we are assuming that Cato won the 74th games, and there was no subsequent rebellion. The tributes from the Capitol have been genetically engineered using the DNA of past victors (you can specify canon victors if you'd like)_ , _but are unaware of this fact_ _. They have been raised in normal Capitol families, but have been trained much as Careers are. They will be "reaped" with the drawing rigged in favor of the six most accomplished._

 _Forms and character list can be found on my profile. Please PM a completed form if you're interested in adding your tribute (guests can post in a review). Spots will be open until all are filled._


	2. Rejection

"If you are here, then you have not been chosen."

There were murmurs of disappointment among the eighteen gathered teenagers at Gamemaker King's words. One girl even broke away from the group, calling out her rage as she grabbed a sword from the wall and slashed at one of the training dummies All their work, all their training, had come to naught for the lot of them.

One of the tributes, however, let out a breath in relief. Cassander knew he was not cut out for the Games. He had always known, since he had learned what they were working towards. His training, made to draw out and amplify his strengths, had only served to highlight his inadequacies, time and time again. He was the weakest, he was the slowest. He had some skill with camouflage and stealth, though there many that exceeded him in that as well. Often, he wondered if King had only kept him around so long to help the others build up their confidence. They might not be the best, but at least they weren't as bad as _him_.

"Fret not," King continued, his voice calm but loud enough to carry among the din. "You shall still have your roles in the game to come. You will be expected to acts as the mentors and escorts from the other districts do - gaining the support of worthy and wealthy sponsors to aid our tributes. And I have no doubt that you will excel at the task. Just remember, as always, your training here never happened. You are to sell the narrative that your friends, skilled as they may be, are average children of the Capitol, lucky to serve their home in the Games."

Cassander nodded out of habit, just as the others around him did. Not even his mother knew what he was really doing. She had been told that he was in an "accelerated program" in addition to his normal schooling. A white lie which, he supposed, hadn't been entirely untrue.

"And afterwards, of course, you will be rewarded as well. Any path you wish to take in life from here will be open to you. Peacekeeping, Politics, even working in the Games as a trainer, a stylist, a gamemaker like myself...nothing is beyond your reach," King finished, smiling warmly at the group.

Cassander perked up at the possibilities now before him. His mother was a stylist - she had taught him how to sew at a young age, and he often assisted her as he grew older. He had a knack for design, according to her.

"You are dismissed for the day," King added, "Think on what future you want. You'll have until after the Games to make up your minds, so we can begin to place you."

The teens began to filter out slowly, many still feeling the sting of rejection. Cassander lingered, wanting the chance to speak to King alone. He knew what he wanted. He was hardly cut out to wield a weapon, no matter how hard he'd trained. But perhaps he could wield a needle instead.

"Sir?" Cassander asked, cutting in front of the Gamemaker before he could leave. "I want to be a stylist."

"I'm sure we could arrange for next-"

"This year," Cassander interrupted him, "I want to begin as soon as possible." Why wait? The path had never occurred to him before, but now that it was before him, he was itching to race down it. "I can help our tributes best that way."

King considered for a moment. "True," He said, "And I think it could be arranged. For you to be an assistant of course...if nothing else, your mother might be willing to take you on. But you may not be assigned to one the Capitol's tributes this late."

Cassander's face faltered. It didn't surprise him that he'd have to work up from being an assistant, of course, but he thought for sure he'd be aiding someone he knew, not some stranger from the district.

Not someone who was almost certainly doomed to die at the hands of someone he'd known since he was five.

"I-"

"Take it or leave it, Cassander. Those are your choices."

"I'll do it," He said. Even if he did end up with someone from the districts, he'd have to take that chance.

King smiled at this. "Then I'll see to it that's all is arranged," He said. He continued to speak as he side-stepped making his way from the training room. "Just remember. This is the Quarter Quell, the Centennial. Everything must be spectacular. Perfect. Even the District Tributes.

He stopped in the doorway, silhouetted by the much brighter light pouring in from the hall. "Don't disappoint us."

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** Just a little bit of Filler/Flavor for you all! Still accepting tributes, see my profile for the submission form. I'll also be accepting Mentors, Escorts, and Stylists for all districts (Stylists only for the Capitol). You don't need to do a full-fledged form for them, just a name and brief description along with what district they're connected with. And if you want to adopt Cassander or his mother as your tribute's stylist/stylist assistant, let me know!_

 _ **Disclaimer:** The Hunger Games _is the property of Suzanne Collins. I own nothing.


	3. Gossip

Myra took her seat, setting down her lunch tray across from those of her friends, Rosette and Cecelia, who were already deep in conversation, completely ignoring their trays that were piled high with rich food.

"Shame we won't be able to have a reaping party this year, I heard Vitalis was planning a great one."

"Maybe he'll throw one for the Parade instead? That's always so much better than the boring old reapings after all…"

"Reaping definitely won't be boring this year. Who do you think will get picked? Oh, oh, I bet Ariston will be one of them. I heard he was even going to volunteer…"

Myra could hear a dreamy quality in Cecelia's voice as she spoke of her crush. She glanced over at the boy, tall and thin, and stunningly handsome. She knew him to be an arrogant smart-ass who talked a big game but never took any action, all bark and no bite. She tried not snort at the idea of him volunteering, let alone in the arena. He wouldn't survive past the bloodbath.

"Ariston's not going to volunteer," Myra said to her friends flatly. "Even if he does, I'm sure a load of people would want to. And they'll only pick the very best of the ones who do." That, she knew, was what King and the rest of the Gamemakers were banking on. Multiple volunteers, or no volunteers at all. If one person volunteered, in fact, she and the rest of the training group were all supposed to volunteer themselves. Even if by some unfortunate incident they couldn't get the "chosen six" in as they had planned, one of the others could take their place.

"Oh, that's no fun," Rosette whined, "They'll probably pick some dull meathead."

"Have you heard anything, Myra?" Cecelia asked, leaning forward expectantly. Myra's mother was one of the game makers, and she occasionally caught little bits of info in the weeks leading up to the game, and she had always shared this with her two closest friends. The three of them could never resist a good bit of gossip. "Anything good? Not even about the reapings, about anything at all..."

"I have," She said. Of course, she had the absolute best piece of gossip. She knew _exactly_ who was going to be reaped, out of the whole of the Capitol. But she couldn't say a word of that, even though she was practically bursting at the seams to do so. It took all her willpower not to blurt it out then and there. But she took a moment to gather herself, trying to pick out some little snippet of a conversation she'd heard her mother having over the past few weeks. Between Myra's training and her mother's work, they saw little of each other. But she did remember something.

"Cloaks," She said finally. "Part of the uniform this year, I think."

"Cloaks?" Rosette replied, wrinkling her nose, "Ugh. How passé. Those were popular what, like fifteen years ago?"

Cecelia, on the other hand, gave a little squeal of delight. "But they'll be back in fashion again, Rosie," she giggled, "Oh! We could get ahead of the curve on this. If we're dressed in capes like the tributes on the first night, we'll be trendsetters. Thanks, My-my!"

Myra relaxed a little as Cecelia continued to titter on about cloaks, turning her attention to her food. Hopefully that would keep her friends satiated as far as gossip went for a while. The wait until the reapings was going to feel _much_ longer than usual this year.

* * *

 _Author's note: Hey everyone! Just thought I'd throw another little vignette up and give a little arena hint. Thanks to everyone who's submitted a tribute so far. There are still a lot of slots open for those of you interested in throwing one into the mix! Reaping chapters will start as soon as I have two tributes from the same district._


	4. District 4 Reaping

**District Four Reaping**

 **POV - Angela Baker**

"I dug something out for you," Chloe says as she leans into my bedroom, holding out a summer dress, striped blue and white. I thank her quietly, taking it from her. Her brows furrows slightly, concerned. "Are you worried?"

Though I've only known Chloe for a few years since she married my eldest brother, Damian, and have lived with them both for even less time, she's learned to read my emotions well. "A little," I admit. There's been rumors going around in school – that there will be no designated volunteer from the training academy this year. I don't know if there's any truth to it, but it scares me a little, that even the careers might fear the Capitol's tributes.

But there's curiosity in my mind, too. You don't hear much about the day-to-day life of the average Capitolite. Surely, we'd get to see a bit of that, in the training sessions or the interviews.

"Everything will be alright," Chloe adds gently, placing a hand on my cheek. "You'll see. Now hurry up. You don't want to be late." She steps back out into the hall, closing the door behind her with a click. I slip on the dress, adding a necklace with a seashell hanging from it and a pair of comfortable brown sandals. I leave my chestnut brown hair down, beachy waves framing my face. Lastly, I add a bracelet to my wrist. An enameled charm in the shape of a green pear dangles from it. It doesn't exactly go with the rest of what I'm wearing, but it belonged to my mother, one of the few things I have left from her. With that, I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, and go downstairs to join Chloe and my brothers.

Once we've arrived together at the town square, I hug Damian and Chloe before my other brother, Brett, walks me to the area for fourteen-year-olds. He tells me not to worry, giving my shoulder a squeeze before he makes his way to stand with the other eighteen-year-olds. Usually, there's not too much to worry about, but today there's tension. I'm not the only one who's heard the rumors. As I weave through the sea of people, searching for my friends, I hear the same rumors being repeated, and try my best to ignore them. _Someone will volunteer,_ I repeat over and over in my head.

At last spy two of my good friends, Rachel and Carl, and hurry over to them. John, who usually rounds out our quartet, appears behind me a moment later, making me jump as he taps me on the shoulder. I giggle as I turn and see it's him, my worry over the Reaping forgotten briefly. We barely have time to say our hellos, though, before the mayor begins droning on about the Dark Days.

As he muddles on through the same old speech, I feel the anxiety slink back into my mind. _It's almost time. They won't pick my name. Everything will be fine…_ I think, the words going through a loop in my head. I feel John's fingers lace with mine suddenly, and on the other side, Rachel does the same. Her other hand is linked with Carl's, I notice as I looked between each of my friend's faces.

I take in a deep breath as our Escort, Murena Sweet, steps up to the microphone – and to the reaping bowl. She is decked out, as she usually is, in makeup that she thinks is suited to our district. An overwhelming amount of sparkly blue eyeshadow and matching lipstick overpower her natural features. Shiny green scales cling to her cheeks, and a large, fake eel has been woven through her hair. It's usually something the four of us snicker about, but this year, we're silent as she reaches into the bowl, pulling out a single slip of paper for the girls.

"Angela Baker!" She reads loudly, cheerfully.

At first, I don't recognize my own name, and simply stand, dumbstruck. There is no usual clamor of the volunteers fighting for their place. There is only silence, until Murena repeats my name, looking around expectantly.

John and Rachel both give my hands one last squeeze before their grip slips away from mine, and I can feel Carl reach over to give my shoulder a soft pat. In a daze, I start walking forward. I don't notice the tears rolling down my cheeks until I'm moving up the stairs, or that I'm shaking until I stand on the stage, staring out at the crowd.

 **POV – Castor Starrow**

"Castor! Come and stand with us, would you?"

I blush slightly as Siana grabs my hand and pulls me over to where she and her twin brother, Vace, are standing.

"'Bout time you showed," Vace said, "Not scared of a few Capitolites are you?" He waggles his eyebrows at me.

"Of course," I say, rolling my eyes. I'm not about to tell him that I'm late because of a rash that's currently on my knee. An unfortunate thing to appear on Reaping Day, but at least the khaki pants I'm wearing hides it well enough. I'm also not about to tell him how horrible I feel for whoever is going to be reaped. Whoever the six from the Capitol are, they're probably stronger and smarter than anyone in the Districts, and they'll probably ally with each other to boot.

"Hey, look at Sweet," Vace lets out a snort as he elbows me, the district escort taking a seat on stage besides the Mayor. He rises to start speaking, and Siana shushes her brother before I can respond. The Mayor takes his time, as usual, getting through his speech. Usually, there will be a few in the crowd bold enough to urge him to wrap things up. Instead, everyone seems solemn and silent today, none more so than when Murena dips her hand into the bowl to pick the female tribute.

The girl – Angela Baker – is crying as she makes her way up to the stage and shaking as she stands there.  
"There, there dear," Murena tries to comfort her, patting her arm in failed attempt to seem sincere. She cheers up immediately again as she turns back to the crowd. "And now for our boy!" She beams as she swirls her hand through the paper slips, drawing one out.

"Castor Starrow!" She chirps cheerfully.

Vace punches my arm playfully, apparently unworried. "Good luck," He beams, "Go show them what Four can do!"

Siana glares at her brother, pulling me into a quick hug. I can feel heat rise to my cheeks again before she pulls away. I'm too stunned to even manage a goodbye as I step away from her and Vace, and start to make my way towards the stage. I can feel tears well up in my eyes, a lump in my throat. _The Capitol is watching,_ I remind myself, _Stay strong._

I'm only on stage a few short moments before I'm whisked away into a car with Murena and the other tribute. Murena chatters on about how excited she is for the Quell. Angela simply stares out the car window until we're brought to the Justice Building for our goodbyes.

My parents must have rushed ahead of the car – or someone brought them along – because they're already waiting for me. I reach for the necklace I wear – a small pendant with a photo of my mother on one side and my father on the other. I'm glad I wore it, though I hoped I wouldn't need it. It'll be my token, when I get into the arena.

My father is stony-face, quiet, but that's not out of the ordinary for him. I reach out to shake his hand, but he pulls me into an embrace. "Stay safe," He mutters to me, though I know I can't promise anything like that. Where I'm going will be far from safe. "I'll be alright," I tell him, trying to reassure him, and even more so myself.

My mother on the hand is a wreck, and I can tell she's trying to hold back sobs. I can feel my own tears threatening again, but even though we're not being watched, I still hold them back. I couldn't bear to upset her further. I wrap my arms around her. "I'll be okay, mom," I tell her, "I promise."

I tell her over and over, in what feels like a hundred different ways.

But as I'm led away towards the train by a peacekeeper, I don't think either of us believe it.

* * *

 _A/ **N: I'm still alive! I expect updates will be slowing coming, unfortunately, but I'll try and get new chapters up as soon as I can. Spots are still open if anyone is interested. District 3 Reaping will be up next!**_


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